Hai cercato la traduzione di how can i get to this place in yo... da Inglese a Tagalog

can i get in your car later
pwede bang makisabay yung kaibigan ko

how can i get home
paano ka makakauwi

how can i get it.
paano ko makukuha

how can i get there
makakapunta kaya ako doon?

how can i get to the police station?
paano ako makakapunta sa estasyon ng pulis?

how can i get there?
paano makapunta doon?

how can i get my money bac
ibig sabihin hindi na maibabalik ung pera na nakuha?

i'm figuring out how can i get the money
paano ako makakakuha ng pera sa iyo

i don't know how to read and write, how can i get to grade 11 if i don't know how to write and read who is not stupid?
bark well manga dogis

there's a place in your heart and to now that it is love and this place could be much brightan than tomorrow and if you really try you find there's no need to cry in this place you feel there's no hurt or sorrow there are ways together if you care enough for the living make a little space make a better space
there's a place in your heart and to now that it is love and this place could be much brightan than tomorrow and if you really try you find there's no need to cry in this place you feel there's no hurt or sorrow there are ways together if you care enough for the living make a little space make a better place

there's a place in your heart and i know that it is love and this place it was brighter than tomorrow and if you really try you'll find there's no need to cry in this place you'll feel there's no hurt or sorrow
there 's a place in your heart and i know that it is love and this place it was brighter than tomorrow and if you really try you' ll find there 's no need to cry in this place you' ll feel there 's no hurt or sorrow

a low art [excerpt from the penelopiad] by margaret atwood (canada) now that i’m dead i know everything. this is what i wished would happen, but like so many of my wishes it failed to come true. i know only a few factoids that i didn’t know before. death is much too high a price to pay for the satisfaction of curiosity, needless to say. since being dead — since achieving this state of bonelessness, liplessness, breastlessness —i’ve learned some things i would rather not know, as one does when listening at windows or opening ot her people’s letters. you think you’d like to read minds? think again. down here everyone arrives with a sack, like the sacks used to keep the winds in, but each of these sacks is full of words —words you’ve spoken, words you’ve heard, wo rds that have been said about you. some sacks are very small, others large; my own is of a reasonable size, though a lot of the words in it concern my eminent husband. what a fool he made of me, some say. it was a specialty of his: making fools. he got away with everything, which was another of his specialties: getting away. he was always so plausible. many people have believed that his version of events was the true one, give or take a few murders, a few beautiful seductresses, a few one-eyed monsters. even i believed him, from time to time. i knew he was tricky and a liar, i just didn’t think he would play his tricks and try out his lies on me. hadn’t i been faithful? hadn’t i waited, and waited, and waited, despite the temptation — almost the compulsion — to do otherwise? and what did i amount to, once the official version gained ground? an edifying legend. a stick used to beat other women with. why couldn’t they be as considerate, as trustworthy, as all-suffering as i had been? that was the line they took, the singers, the yarn- spinners. don’t follow my example, i want to scream in your ears — yes, yours! but when i try to scream, i sound like an owl. of course i had inklings, about his slipperiness, his wiliness, his foxiness, his — how can i put this? — his unscrupulousness, but i turned a blind eye. i kept my mouth shut; or if i opened it, i sang his praises. i didn’t contradict, i didn’t ask awkward questions, i didn’t dig deep. i wanted happy endings in those days, and happy endings are best achieved by keeping the right doors locked and going to sleep during the rampages. but after the main events were over and things had become less legendary, i realised how many people were laughing at me behind my back — how they were jeering, making jokes about me, jokes both clean and dirty; how they were turning me into a story, or into several stories, though not the kind of stories i’d prefer to hear about m yself. what can a woman do when scandalous gossip travels the world? if she defends herself she sounds guilty. so i waited some more. now that all the others have run out of air, it’s my t urn to do a little storymaking. i owe it to myself. i’ve had to work myself up to it: it’s a low art, tale-telling. old women go in for it, strolling beggars, blind singers, maidservants, children — folks with time on their hands. once, people would have laughed if i’d tried to play th e minstrel —there’s nothing more preposterous than an aristocrat fumbling around with the arts — but who cares about public opinion now? the opinion of the people down here: the opinions of shadows, of echoes. so i’ll spin a thread of my own.
isang mababang kwento ng sining sa tagalog